To Do a Dragon a Favor
by Neosatsuma
Summary: The Great Dragon comes to Merlin in need of assistance, bearing news that does not bode well for Camelot. Will the young warlock be able to protect the kingdom and its king while keeping his secret?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fanfic ever! :O

I'm not entirely sure where I want to go with this story, but I have an idea and I am determined to finish it. Set after The Wicked Day but before Aithusa. Rated T because I'm not quite sure what all's going to be in it, but so far it's definitely still K. Reviews would definitely be wonderful as this is my first story! :D

It was a calm, quiet night in Camelot. A chilly breeze swept through the town, tickling the horses in their stables, teasing leaves and grass and clothes hung out to dry, and the winter moon bathed the sleeping kingdom in brilliance.

_Merlin._

Merlin shifted, and tugged the bed sheets up around his chin.

_Merlin._

Merlin rolled over, wondering if it was any good to pretend to be sleeping.

_Merlin!_

Apparently not.

Merlin sat up in defeat, and rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window, taking in the moon and stars and dark. He wondered if Kilgharrah enjoyed waking him at odd hours; wondered if he had treated his father similarly. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his face.

_I have a favor to ask of you, young warlock, _said the dragon, and for a moment Merlin saw fire and ash and smelled smoke and watched children screaming and knights dying, and thought that if his assistance resulted in anything similar to what it had in the past, then the answer was 'no.'

A dry chuckle tickled his mind, and as if reading his thoughts, (and perhaps he was) the dragon said, _You are well aware that I can never harm Camelot again. This matter is of a different nature entirely. It will become apparent what I would require of you when we meet._

There was a pause, as if he was gathering his thoughts, and that in itself was so very unlike the dragon that Merlin found himself pulling on his boots and coat in spite of himself. Kilgharrah resumed.

_I will be in the glade within the hour. It would be in your best interests as well as mine if you were there also._

Merlin was good at what he did. After many midnight meetings and daring escapades, and much smuggling of sorcerers in and out, his experience in the field of sneaking around was second to none. He knew every secret passage in the castle and every little alley in the town, and which houses offered the best shadow and which barrels were easiest to tip from afar. Meeting the dragon was often the highlight of his day; there were very few things more amusing than finding new ways to distract Camelot's guards.

Merlin arrived before the dragon did, as usual, and stood nervously in the grass, watching his breath rise in front of him. It was several minutes before he heard the familiar sound of leathery wings beating the air, and a moment later, Kilgharrah appeared, huge and ominous in the moonlight, his eyes visibly glinting even in the distance. The grass trembled beneath him as he alighted.

"Ah, Merlin," he said, peering down at him as if Merlin was so small in comparison to himself that he was difficult to see.

"I am sorry to say that I am the bearer of grave news, though I am glad that you have come to hear it. However, there is a small matter that I fear must be taken care of first."

While he spoke, Merlin had become aware of a subtle difference in the dragon's movements; he did not rustle his wings or twitch his tail, or even bob his head in that calculating way that Merlin had grown accustomed to. In fact, he hardly moved at all; the blinking of his great amber eyes and his jaw, moved as it was by his speech, were the only indications he gave of being alive.

It was then that Merlin noticed a flash of something out of place; a strange disturbance of the smooth flow of scales that plated the dragon's chest. There was something odd there that gleamed in the moonlight; something that he had never expected to see. It was a hilt of a sword.

It was on the right.

"What happened?" breathed Merlin, meeting the dragon's eyes, afraid. "How could anyone… I thought…"

Kilgharrah, at last, moved. He lowered his heavy, scaly head until it was level with Merlin's and said,

"Now is not the time for questions, young warlock. If you wish me to live, you will act quickly."

Merlin nodded.

"The sword has been enchanted, and by a very powerful sorcerer. You, Merlin, must remove it; I cannot do so myself. It has been constructed to resist any magic of my own."

Merlin nodded again, his throat tight.

"Then what?" he asked, because he knew that nothing was ever so simple.

"Do you remember the spell I gave you to heal the witch?" asked the dragon, and even now his eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back into a reptilian frown at the memory of the Lady Morgana and Merlin's abuse of his powers.

"Yes," said Merlin, "But, I can't do it again—not with my own magic; you only gave me—"

"Merlin," said Kilgharrah, and the warlock stilled.

"Do you remember the spell?"

An uneasy silence.

"Yes," said Merlin.

"Then you must use it. I cannot lend you my power; the magic must be your own. But you are strong, young warlock; stronger than you know. You have the ability, even if you do not have the will."

The dragon blinked wisely, raising his great head to study Merlin from above, and Merlin fidgeted under his gaze. There was a strained silence between them. Then the dragon, almost quiet, almost gentle, yet still too much a dragon to be either of these things, said solemnly:

"Will you do it?"

Merlin collected himself.

"Of course," he said.

"I don't want you to die. You know that."

Kilgharrah dipped his head, and replied, "Very well."

How the castle remained soundly asleep that night was a mystery Merlin never solved.

As the hilt of the sword was stuck far too high in the dragon's chest for Merlin to reach without jumping, Kilgharrah was forced to lie down on his side in the grass. His huge left shoulder hit the earth first, then his hind-quarters, and each produced such a thud and a rumble through the ground that Merlin thought anyone within miles would suspect an earthquake. He lost his footing and fell clumsily against the dragon's enormous front paw, and the dragon let out a snort, then closed his eyes. It was obvious that he was in pain. And he was counting on Merlin to help him.

Merlin was frightened. What if his magic wasn't enough? What if he did something wrong? What if he killed the dragon instead of saving him, as he had Uther? Kilgharrah had saved his life many times, and though Merlin hesitated to call the pair of them "friends," they were more than that; they were kin. They were the last dragon and the last dragonlord, creatures of the Old Religion, united by the magic in their veins for the good of Camelot and Albion. If Kilgharrah were to die… It would be so much more than losing a friend.

_Merlin._

Merlin looked up, and realized there were tears in his eyes. He stood very close to the dragon, now; nearly within arm's reach of the sword, though he did not remember his feet bringing him there. Kilgharrah had opened one gleaming eye, though it was duller now than it had ever been, as if the flame behind it was going out, and when he spoke his fearsome jaws did not move.

_Do not look so terrified, Merlin. You are a great warlock. You are Emrys, of whom the Druids have spoken for thousands of years. You have more power than you yet realize, as I have told you time and time again. _

The dulling eye closed. Dragon and dragonlord were still under the moon.

_Use it._

Merlin took a deep breath, pulled his right hand into his sleeve and wiped at his eyes, and took a step forward. The hilt of the sword was a deep, smooth black, traced with gold in intricate patterns, and the warlock could feel its magic as he stretched his hand towards it. Merlin looked to the face of the dragon, half-hoping for some last words of wisdom, but none came. He breathed a shaky breath. Gripped the sword first in one hand, then in both, closed his eyes, opened them, and with a flash of gold, tugged.

Time seemed to slow, and the air was rent for one interminable moment with a sound that Merlin would never forget as long as he lived.

It was low, and rumbling, like thunder when it began, escalating into a roar, and seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It filled his head, filled the glade, seemed to fill the whole kingdom with its huge and unbearable agony, and it was _loud_. It was pain. The earth seemed to tremble and the sky to shake, and everything everywhere _stopped._ The wind held its breath, and the crickets their song, and the rabbits and pheasants rustling in the brush were suddenly still, and every leaf on every tree slowed, and froze.

Not a soul in Camelot stirred.

Merlin found himself on the ground when time began again, the sword fallen from his hand, and he looked instantly to Kilgharrah. The dragon had never opened his mouth; never so much as moved. But that horrible roar still rang in Merlin's ears.

A moment later and he was on his feet, knowing he had no time to lose. He stumbled to the dragon's chest, and spread his hands over the bloodied scales, breathing hard and closing his eyes, feeling the spell in his mind and his magic on the tip of his tongue. He braced himself, and spoke.

"_Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!"_

The flash of gold in his eyes was as bright as the dragon's.

Merlin fell to his knees, gasping. He had never felt so much power before; even the first time he had performed the spell, the magic had been Kilgharrah's, and it did not flow through him and out of him and around him as his own did. He felt as if he had just channeled a bolt of lightning or a tidal wave, and it left him exhausted. The air still tingled with it.

Shakily, Merlin got to his feet, gripping Kilgharrah' neck for support, and made his way to the dragon's head, hoping for some immediate indication of success, a sign of life.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Merlin rapped his knuckles on the dragon's hard, scaly jaw.

"Kilgharrah. Did I do it? Did it work?"

Silence.

Panic creeping into his chest, Merlin scrambled clumsily down the length of the dragon's body until he stood before his great underbelly, waiting to see the huge torso rise and fall with the dragon's breath.

And he did.

Merlin smiled a huge smile, and let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding, and before he knew it he was laughing in relief, and whatever force had been holding him upright gradually let him go and he sank to the ground at the dragon's side. He knew he ought to go back to the castle; knew that he couldn't stay here in the glade with a dragon, but somehow these thoughts became inconsequential in the face of overwhelming relief and fatigue, and he found that he could not have moved another inch if he wanted to.

And so, with thoughts of magic and success and life, Merlin succumbed to sleep, in the grass beside Kilgharrah, and the last sound he heard was a familiar rustling above his head.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Finally, the second chapter! I'm sorry it took so long, and I'm sorry it's so short! Life kinda happened. But I officially know where I'm going with this now, so hopefully future updates will be quicker. And, really quick, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/added me to their story alerts! I wasn't sure if this would get much of a response at all, and so much positive feedback has been amazing! Anyhow, on with the story! :D

Merlin awoke with a start to the sensation of being dragged, and he was struggling even before his eyes were open.(An instinct doubtless born of his may misadventures since his arrival in Camelot.) A pair of hands was under his arms, and he had just managed to wiggle free of them when he was grabbed round the wrist, and a voice said, "Merlin!" and he stilled and looked up. Gwaine was standing over him, and it was morning in the glade.

The knight grinned.

"Rise and shine."

Merlin opened his mouth, wondered briefly what he was going to say, when Gwaine saved him the trouble by calling, "He's all right! I think."

He glanced down at Merlin.

"Are you all right?"

Merlin nodded.

"He's all right!"

Merlin grinned and shifted his attention to his surroundings. Kilgharrah was gone, and Percival, Leon, and Arthur were riding toward them, Arthur in the act of sheathing his sword. Gawine's horse was wandering across the glade, nibbling.

"Merlin," said Arthur, pulling his steed to a halt as Merlin scrambled to his feet. He realized that his clothes were unpleasantly damp, and found the culprit to be a thin layer of frost over the grass.

"What happened here? And make it quick; we don't have much time."

Merlin wasn't sure why there should be any lack of time, but he knew better than to waste it (and Arthur's patience) by asking questions.

He took a deep breath and the first explanation that entered his head (aside from the truth, of course) came tumbling from his mouth.

"I… was gathering herbs. For Gaius."

"In the middle of the night?" asked Arthur skeptically, raising his eyebrows. Merlin realized with chagrin that his wet clothes made it quite obvious how long he had been lying in the grass.

"That's the best time!" he said hurriedly.

"Because… the crickets—like them."

Arthur's eyebrows rose further.

"They sort of… swarm around them, the herbs, and you have to follow the chirping, you see. You won't find them otherwise, 'cause they blend in… Really well."

Merlin could not have read Arthur's face if his life depended on it.

"Really, _really _well."

There was a strange silence.

Merlin ploughed on.

"The dragon landed in the glade with a sword stuck in its chest. I was going to go back to the castle and tell you, but I thought it was dying so I wasn't careful. It knocked me out with its tail, but I heard it fall beside me and I thought its injuries must have been too much for it."

Merlin took in the empty glade and tried his best to look bewildered.

"But I guess… that wasn't the case? What happened to it? Did it escape?"

"Yes," said Arthur shortly, and Gwaine spoke up from Merlin's side.

"When we saw it we thought it was dead. Thought you were dead, too, for a minute there; we couldn't see much of you."

Merlin gave a questioning glance.

"You were covered by its wing," supplied Arthur, still tense on his horse, scanning the clear morning sky intently.

"Must have slipped over you when it fell."

"Lucky thing, too," said Gwaine with a grin. "It was a cold night last night. You'd be one frozen Merlin if not for that."

Merlin grinned. He knew very well that Kilgharrah's wing had not "slipped over" him by luck; he remembered the familiar rustling sound he had heard above his head as he slipped into unconsciousness the night before. He would have to thank the dragon when he got the chance.

If he was all right.

Merlin drew in a breath to voice his question, ("What happened to the dragon?") when a loud, familiar, _bong, bong, bong _cut through the air. A pheasant exploded from the brush at the edge of the clearing with a shriek of surprise, spooking Gwaine's wayward horse, and Arthur announced as the knight went to retrieve it, "That'll be the warning bell. Merlin, ride with Gwaine. We must get back to the castle quickly."

"What? Why—"

"Hop on, Merlin," said Gwaine, pulling up beside his friend, and Merlin reluctantly scrambled aboard behind him. The horses were urged quickly to a gallop. Merlin leaned around Gwaine to shout at Arthur's back.

"Arthur! What's going on?"

The King kicked his horse into a quicker pace, and the knights followed suit.

"I sent Elyan back to the castle after the dragon escaped, to sound the alarm. If that creature is still alive it will surely attack Camelot; we must prepare for a siege."

Merlin's stomach dropped.

Gwaine filled Merlin in on the details of the past half hour during the short, hard ride back to the castle. Through the conversation that took place back and forth over Gwaine's shoulder, he learned that Arthur and his knights had been on their way into the depths of the forest on a hunting trip, (Arthur, as king, rarely had time for such excursions anymore) when they had found the dragon, Merlin beside it. The party drew their swords, hoping that the creature was dead, but taking no chances, and Gwaine was sent to get Merlin out from under the dragon's wing while the rest surrounded it. (Arthur had originally insisted that _he_ rescue his servant, but as the others had pointed out, the king was the best among them with a sword, and if a fight should become necessary, his comrades would need him. He relented unhappily.)

Things went rather well for a short while. Gwaine managed to approach the silent beast without incurring any dire consequences, and the other knights were able to form a wide circle around its huge, still form. But the moment Gwaine stretched his arm under the dragon's enormous wing and touched his friend's shoulder, the dragon reacted.

Two great, amber eyes snapped open, as did jaws and wings and the creature was on its feet in an instant, lashing its barbed tail as Arthur and his knights plunged forward, swords gleaming, and with a violent rush of air and beating of leathery wings, the dragon hurled itself into the morning sky and its huge scaly body disappeared in the distance and Merlin awoke. It had not appeared at all injured.

Merlin smiled as Gwaine concluded his narrative, then frowned, realizing that the dragon's lack of any obvious wounds would be problematic concerning the believability of his story. He was not looking forward to his next conversation with Arthur.

The city was already in a state of frantic motion when Arthur and his party arrived at the gates. Elyan's news had spread quickly, and dozens of knights had been organized and armed with crossbows and stood ready at the parapets, and many, many more were joining them continuously. Gwaine and Leon and Percival went instantly to aid them and Arthur met with the council, and Merlin helped Gaius prepare remedies as Arthur instructed, in anticipation of grave dragon-related injuries, though they both knew it was a needless preparation.

The day passed in a flurry of activity. The whole of Camelot expected to be attacked at any moment, and messengers were sent out to warn the villages that the dragon had returned, and knights and guards swarmed everywhere. A horrible air of fear settled over the castle, and Merlin wished desperately that he could tell everyone that it was all right, that they were safe, but he could not. The only benefit of the situation, Merlin thought grimly, was that there had been no time yet for an interrogation by Arthur. He would certainly be very keen to learn how, exactly, The Great Dragon who had died by his hand, was alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello! This chapter is longer than the last, so, hurrah! And (also hurrah) real plot is fast approaching! So, enjoy, and again, thank you so much to all you reviewers for reviewing! I would say you have no idea how happy it makes me, but then, I bet you do!**

Merlin brought Arthur's supper to the king's chambers with a growing feeling of trepidation. So great was his nervousness that he knocked before entering, but received no response. Naturally, Arthur would be elsewhere on the one occasion that Merlin decided to be polite.

He pushed the door open slowly. The room was in a state of wild disarray, as it had been missing a certain manservant for nearly twenty four hours. Merlin had found no time (not that he had tried particularly hard) to tidy Arthur's chambers that day, occupied as he was in assisting Gaius.

The warlock sighed, stepping fully into the room and setting Arthur's meal on the table, then turned to assess the situation.

The bed was unmade. The floor was strewn with clothes and boots and a belt, and the desk by the window was completely covered in parchment. Merlin decided to tend to that first. (Though, after a quick look towards the door, he directed a briefly golden glance at the bedclothes, which wiggled and neatly pulled themselves flat over the bed.)

Arthur had apparently been very deep in paperwork before all this dragon business began; the smooth, brown surface of the desk was hardly visible, and several sheaves of parchment littered the floor all around. Merlin stooped and picked them up, shuffling them together in his hands before turning to the desk to replace them and organize their fellows, then stopped in his tracks. He held his breath, though he didn't know why.

There on the desk, laid across the parchment and slightly covered by it in some areas, was the sword. The smooth, black hilt and gleaming gold intricacies were impossible to mistake, as was the cold whisper of magic that had settled around it.

The blade was still marred by Kilgharrah's blood.

"Recognize it?"

Merlin jumped, and spun round. Arthur was leaning against the doorframe, grinning a little at the servant's reaction. Merlin nodded belatedly.

"We found it next to the dragon," the king continued, pushing away from the door and into the room.

"I had Elyan take it back with him; thought it might be useful."

Arthur had reached the desk, and Merlin backed away several steps as he took up the sword and examined it in the light, and continued.

"Apparently, during the Great Purge, the knights used swords like this to destroy the dragons. My father had them made specifically for that purpose, hence their unusual length; they had to be long enough to reach a dragon's heart. They worked better than spears; didn't break as easily."

Arthur swung the sword through the air experimentally, and Merlin shuddered. He could scarcely believe that Arthur could be so entirely oblivious to the sword's cold tingle of magic. He wished he would stop waving the wretched thing around.

"Whoever was trying to kill that dragon last night obviously had the right idea." He looked thoughtful.

"Which brings us to the point, actually."

Merlin winced. He had known there would be a point eventually.

Arthur carefully laid the awful sword upon the desk, then half-leaned, half-sat, against the wooden edge, crossing his arms pensively. He looked up at Merlin, who was frozen and stiff and felt as if he couldn't breathe.

"You said," began Arthur slowly, watching his servant's face, "That the dragon was dead. You said I killed it, a year ago. Obviously, I didn't."

Arthur looked Merlin up and down, and said, "And judging by the way you're standing there like a stunned rabbit, I assume you knew that I didn't."

Merlin swallowed, and nodded.

"So, you lied."

Merlin realized at that moment that this conversation was utterly unsalvageable. He was going to have to tell Arthur the truth; well, the half-truth that was more true than the one he had told a year ago. He wondered sadly, as he steeled himself and prepared to speak, if Arthur would ever know the _real_ truth.

"All right, I lied. I told you it was dead when it wasn't, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Why?" demanded Arthur. He looked baffled and frustrated.

"Why- You do _realize_ that what you've done could be considered treason! By letting that—_creature _escape, you put all of Camelot in danger!"

"I _know_ that—"

"What could possibly be more important to you than the safety of an entire _kingdom_?"

"I felt sorry for it!" Merlin burst out, and he was surprised at his own ferocity. What he was saying wasn't even entirely true. He took a breath.

"You'd hurt it; it was injured. It was _leaving_. I didn't want it to die and I knew it would if you went after it, so I said you'd killed it. I thought… I thought it had learned its lesson. I thought it would never come back."

"Well, you were wrong, weren't you, _Mer_lin?"

"We don't know that!" said Merlin, but Arthur had turned away from him, was looking out the window. The warlock scrabbled frantically for something to say.

"What if it's just… I don't know, just passing through? Will you kill it for that? Just for existing? Just for _being a dragon_? Because it can't help that, you know; that's the way it was born! Just like you were born a prince and I was born-…" He swallowed. "..Me."

Arthur continued to face the window. Merlin was frustrated.

"What if it has no ill intent?"

At last, Arthur moved, turning slowly from the window to his servant, and his eyes were hard, and when he spoke he sounded old.

"It's a creature of magic, Merlin," he said flatly. "Its intentions will never be anything _but_ ill. You cannot trust magic, or anyone or anything that possesses it."

He signed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It corrupts and it destroys, and it does nothing else. You need to learn that, Merlin. Trusting magic will only get you into trouble. You should know that by now."

There was a long silence. Arthur looked as if he was waiting for Merlin to speak, but when he did not, the king sighed through his nose, and, turning, took up the sword again.

"I need you to take this down to the armory," he said, handing it to Merlin.

"Get it cleaned up and polished, then put it with my other equipment. It needs to be ready for use by morning; we may need it."

Merlin nodded, and with a, "Yes, Sire," headed quickly for the door, the sword laid awkwardly across his palms.

"Oh, and Merlin."

Merlin stopped in the doorway, and looked questioningly over his shoulder.

"What about last night?" asked Arthur.

"What d'you mean?"

Arthur's expression suggested that he was sure Merlin knew very well what he meant.

"I mean, how much of what you said this morning was true? Would you _really_ have come and told me that the dragon was back if you'd had the chance?"

Merlin stood very still for a moment, steadfastly holding Arthur's gaze.

"I don't know," he said, and left.

Merlin prodded absently at his late supper, scooping up spoonfuls of soup in his spoon and letting them fall back into the bowl. _Drip, drip, drip_.

The sword had been tended to and put away where it belonged. Other miscellaneous chores that he had neglected that day had been completed, along with his and Gaius's pointless dragon-preparations. He felt like he ought to be hungry, having accomplished all that, but he wasn't.

A sigh.

"What _is_ it, Merlin?"

The warlock grinned a little and set down his spoon, looking up and across the table. Gaius always knew when there was something on his mind.

"It's Arthur," he said. "He's _so_ determined to kill Kilgharrah. I can't talk him out of it."

"You know he can't," said Gaius with a raised eyebrow. "The Great Dragon is safe as long as he does not return to Camelot, which he won't."

His mentor grinned a bit.

"And even if he did come back and give Arthur reason to kill him, I think he would have quite a hard time of it."

Merlin snorted and picked up his spoon again, staring thoughtfully into his soup.

"I know," he replied. He pushed a chunk of something that might have been a potato to the edge of his bowl.

"It's not… It's not that I'm worried about him. I know he'll be fine no matter what Arthur does. It's just… Arthur wants to kill him so badly, Gaius; you can see it in his eyes. It's so—frustrating to know that he still thinks of magic that way; that he still hates it _so much_. And I always wonder… if he knew who I was, would he hate me like that? Would he want to kill me as— as _desperately_ as he wants to kill the Dragon?"

"The Great Dragon attacked Camelot and killed dozens of people, Merlin. He does have some faults other than simply being a creature of magic," Gaius reminded him gently.

"So do I!" said Merlin. "How many people have died because of me? Will, Freya, Uther—"

"What happened to them was not your fault!"

"Whose was it, then? I had the opportunity to help them—"

"And you did!"

"But it wasn't enough!"

Merlin realized that his voice had risen, took a quick breath, and licked his lips. He didn't want to become angry with Gaius.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, slopping some soup over a bit of possible-potato.

"It's just… it seems like sometimes I only make things worse. I'm supposed to be… 'great' and 'powerful,' and," –he laughed dryly—"'The Mighty Emrys', but what use is it? What good is it to anyone if I keep messing up?"

Gaius smiled a fond, sympathetic smile, and moved round the table to sit beside his ward. He put a hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"You," he said quietly, looking the boy in the eye, "Have an enormous responsibility on your shoulders. You keep Arthur alive day-in day-out, and when you're not doing that, or helping me, you're protecting the rest of the kingdom. Everyone makes mistakes, Merlin, and the more you do, the more will go wrong. But I think—in fact, I'm fairly certain—that the good things you've done these last few years far outweigh the mistakes you've made."

Gaius smiled again, and Merlin couldn't help but return it with a little grin of his own.

"And if he knew, I'm sure Arthur would agree. Now finish your soup; you really will be no good to anyone if you starve to death."

Merlin chuckled, and put a spoonful of potato-thing into his mouth.

It was very dark, and very cold, and very late when Merlin slipped out of bed that night and crept quickly down the long, stone corridors. He had summoned Kilgharrah to meet him, though in a place much farther from the castle than their usual glade, as it was now more important than ever that neither of them be seen (particularly with each other). The increased security within the castle and without would make his escape a difficult one, but the matter which needed to be discussed was much too important to set aside until the king's paranoia subsided; there was a sorcerer out there, somewhere, who could kill (or very nearly kill) a dragon. If that wasn't a threat to Camelot, Merlin didn't know what was.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, this took way too long. Obviously. And, to make up for it taking so long to write, I was going to make it a more decent length, but of course that would delay its being finished even further... So here we have a short, late chapter. Good news, though, half of the next chapter is scrawled in bits and pieces in my notebook somewhere, so I have a head-start!**

**Also, it would be tremendously helpful if someone could tell me how to separate chunks of text. Everything I've tried so far has disappeared in the final version, and it's really pretty strange for the setting to change after just a little line break.**

**Random Fact: There are five separate versions of this chapter on my computer.**

The journey from the physician's chambers to the dark, chilly woods was a much longer one than it had ever been. It seemed that there were more knights and guards awake than asleep, all prowling through every passageway and street, alert and ready for their oncoming foe. Even with the enormous number of strange happenings that night, (there were quite a lot of renegade barrels rolling about, and doors and windows opening and closing, and things falling down, to which the guards could testify) it took Merlin nearly an hour to slip out of the anxious city and into the forest.

The clearing to which he had summoned Kilgharrah (in a whisper, in his bedroom, as he had learned from the incident with the wyverns that he did not need to be loud in order to be heard) was as far away from the castle as Merlin thought he could walk and still be back in Camelot by dawn. It was no surprise to him, then, to find that when he arrived, dirty and panting and with a leaf stuck in his hair, that the dragon was waiting for him. He began to speak without preamble.

"I thank you, young warlock," he said, solemnly.

"I owe you my life."

And in an unprecedented gesture of respect, Kilgharrah bent his neck and lowered his great head, so that his snout nearly touched the ground, and the grass wavered beneath his breath.

It was a dragon's bow.

Merlin found himself at a loss for words, and there was a long moment of silence in which neither dragon nor warlock moved, the only sound the deep, soft rushing of the dragon's breath against the earth. Then Merlin spoke.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, "You'd have done the same for me. In fact, you have; a lot." A small grin spread across his face. "I owe you my life several times over."

Kilgharrah gazed for a moment at Merlin, his great amber eyes once again alight with the fire of life, then raised his head, something like a smile tugging at his old lips.

"Indeed," he said.

Merlin beamed, and another quiet moment passed.

"So you're all right, then?" asked Merlin at last, his eyes scanning the dragon's smooth, tough scales. "I did the spell correctly?"

"You did," replied the dragon, "As I knew you would."

Merlin remembered something he had been meaning to say, and began, rather uncomfortably, "Um, by the way, I just wanted to say—'thanks,' last night, for the…" He gestured awkwardly to Kilgharrah's leathery wing, bathed in moonlight. The dragon nodded in acknowledgement—a sort of silent 'you're welcome', Merlin thought. A pause.

"Was it Morgana?" he asked after a beat, unable to contain the question any longer. "Was Morgana the sorcerer who enchanted the sword?"

"She was one of them, yes," said the dragon.

Merlin frowned.

"One of them?"

Kilgharrah remained silent for a moment, studying Merlin with his huge, gleaming eyes, and then, seemingly having come to a decision, shifted his stance in the damp, dark grass as if to make himself more comfortable. When he resumed, it was with the air of one who knows he has a long conversation ahead of him.

"A band of sorcerers is gathering," said the dragon, "United by their hatred of the surviving Pendragon. They are led by a man called Baird. Many of these are weak and lacking in experience, but their leader is not. Nor is the Lady Morgana. She, and Baird, and one other, the three most powerful among them, are the sorcerers who enchanted the sword."

"Do they plan to attack Camelot?" asked Merlin, though he was sure that he knew the answer already.

"They do," said Kilgharrah, "But not yet; they are gathering strength and numbers. They will not attack until they are fully prepared."

"How long until they are?" asked Merlin.

"That, I do not know," the dragon replied.

"Do you know how many there are?"

"There are nine, now, and it is likely that there will remain nine," said the dragon, "Morgana's reputation has spread; other sorcerers have no desire to associate with her for fear of being betrayed. But they are recruiting others; warriors who do not possess magic, but would see Camelot fall for other reasons. How many of these there are, I cannot say."

Merlin shivered as the breeze played with his neckerchief.

"And what about you?" he asked, squinting against the cold wind as he gazed up at Kilgharrah, through the darkness. "Why did they try to kill you? You're no ally of Camelot's; at least, not directly."

"Ah, but I am an ally of yours, Merlin," the dragon said, "Legends speak of Emrys and all he will do, aided by the last great dragon. Baird knows that Emrys' loyalties lie with King Arthur, and that the dragon's lie with Emrys. He is determined to weaken you through whatever means necessary. Killing me would achieve that end."

Merlin fell silent for a moment, pondering the implications of this. Kilgharrah had been included in the prophecies? His aid had been foretold? The revelation gave him a curiously warm feeling inside. He had always assumed that the dragon sat on the sidelines, outside of destiny, giving pointers to Merlin from his place in the stands. The realization that Kilgharrah was in the arena as well-a "slave to destiny" as much as he was- comforted him. He felt less alone.

He wanted to ask why the dragon had never mentioned his role in Merlin's story before, but he knew there were more important issues to be discussed, so instead, he said:

"But if he knows the legend, then surely he also knows that Emrys—that I'm—that we're going to restore magic to Camelot eventually?"

"'_Eventually_' is not soon enough for Baird," said Kilgharrah simply, "He believes that if the reign of the remaining Pendragon is ended, magic will be restored to the land. He believes that fate can be altered."

"Can it?" asked Merlin.

The dragon gazed down at him wisely for a moment, then said, in his usual cryptic manner:

"That, young warlock, is not for me to say."

_Of course it isn't,_ thought Merlin, but, changing the subject, said aloud, "These sorcerers; do they know that _I'm_ Emrys?"

"No. They have heard the legends, but they are not druids; they cannot sense you as the druids can."

Merlin let out his breath in relief, then paused, gathering his thoughts. He found his eyes wandering again over the dragon's thickly-plated chest, and confirming that there was no evidence at all of his past injury; no dents or scrapes or scratches marring the glinting scales. He hoped that Arthur had not noticed that. Another moment, then Merlin said:

"So what happened? I know why they attacked you, but how? How did they even find you?"

It struck him as he spoke that one might find it rather difficult to hide anywhere, if one was as big as a dragon.

"They found me by magic," said Kilgharrah shortly. He sounded, Merlin thought, as if he did not want to discuss the matter.

"But the details are not important. I believe you have the information you came for; I would suggest you return to Camelot and use it."

"But what am I supposed to _do_?" asked Merlin, "How do I warn Arthur?"

The scaly horns above the dragon's eyes rose, (Merlin thought that they were the closest things to eyebrows that he had) and he looked at Merlin solemnly and skeptically, as if daring him to answer his own question. Merlin understood.

"I can't just _tell_ him," he said, "If he knew how I'd found out, he'd have me executed, or banished, then where would he be? Camelot would fall and I wouldn't be able to stop it."

The dragon continued to scrutinize him.

"I can't tell him it was you who told me," said Merlin, "I'll just have to make something up… Find some other plausible explanation. If he knew it was you…"

Kilgharrah's blinking, gleaming eyes were beginning to make him uncomfortable.

"I _can't_ tell him," he finished lamely.

The dragon, sensing that the conversation was at its end (or preparing to end it) rustled his wings in the moonlight.

"That is _your_ decision, young warlock," he said, and made the words quite final by beating his wings and flapping off into the night.

...

Merlin arrived in Gaius' chambers in the morning with hardly enough time to clean himself up and (hopefully) remove any traces of the forest from his person, before heading hurriedly to Arthur's quarters. He stopped by the kitchens to collect Arthur's breakfast on his way.

He had not yet devised a way to share his new-found information with the king in a manner that would not incriminate him, but he hoped that Gaius would have some idea. He had not had the chance to exchange more than a few words with him since his return. ("Where on earth have you been?" "Out.")

As often happened in the aftermath of a conversation with the dragon, Merlin found that the longer he thought about the conversation, the more questions he had. Why was Morgana not leading the sorcerers herself? Had her reputation grown so poisonous that the other sorcerers did were afraid to put her in a position of power? Or was Baird, perhaps, stronger than she was?

Then, of course, was the question of what had really happened to the dragon, and why he was so reluctant to recount the tale. And where were the sorcerers? Were they hiding in another kingdom, or somewhere in Camelot, right under Arthur's nose? It was with these thoughts in his head that Merlin distractedly entered Arthur's chambers.

"You're late," said Arthur, seated at his desk, surrounded by parchment.

"You're early," retorted Merlin. The curtains had been pulled open, but one was still half- drawn. Merlin moved around the desk and fixed it, and a new section of sunlight poured out onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, peering over Arthur's shoulder at his work. Arthur responded without raising his head.

"Plans," he said tersely, "In case the villagers need to evacuate when the dragon attacks. We need a way to get them to safety quickly and in a manner that won't impede the knights or the guard."

Merlin made a face behind Arthur's back and held his tongue, concerning himself instead with laying out the king's breakfast on the table. This done, he found it quite impossible to prevent his mouth opening again.

"Arthur, about the dragon—"

"We're not going over this again, Merlin," said Arthur, "The dragon will attack and we will be ready for it. Now go make yourself useful; these may be bad times, but I believe my horses still need mucking out."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I think I've got this 'updating' thing all figured out. Most likely I'll be able to put up a new chapter once a week, on Sundays or Saturdays. I usually don't have time to write much on weekdays. (Although at least one portion of every chapter so far as been written during math class. :))**

**Thank you, again, so much, to all you reviewers! You're_ amazing!_**

Merlin sighed, polishing Arthur's armour in monotonous circles. It had hardly been scratched during training, but Arthur seemed uncommonly eager to keep his servant busy of late; it probably had something to do with his continued arguments concerning the dragon. The warlock gazed longingly out the window. It was a bright, golden day, and the frost had melted under the sun, and thick shafts of clear sunlight spilled hopefully into the armory, thought they did not reach very far. It seemed that the perpetual dust and dark of the place swallowed them up only a foot into the room.

At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, Merlin turned away from the window. Gwaine entered, with a "Hello, Merlin," and set about polishing his sword, settling down against the wall beside his friend. The two of them sat in companionable silence for some minutes.

"So," said Gwaine at last, inspecting his blade, "What do you think of all this?"

"All what?" asked Merlin. He kept his attention steadily upon Arthur's armour.

"All this… dragon business," said Gwaine: "All this preparing and planning and strategizing. Arthur has us practicing dragon-killing tactics out there, now." He gestured vaguely to the training field from which he had just come. "Seems to think we'll be needing them at any time."

Merlin gave a soft snort, and the knight grinned, glad to have produced a reaction. Merlin had seemed rather preoccupied lately.

"So what do you think?" asked Gwaine again.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Merlin seemed to be considering his answer.

"I think," he said carefully, "That Arthur may be overreacting."

"To a dragon?"

Merlin shrugged.

"I'm not saying I disagree with you," said Gwaine, setting aside his sword and leaning back against the wall:

"But how do you mean?"

Merlin shrugged again, and glanced briefly up from his work.

"I mean that maybe we're preparing for something that isn't going to happen," he said, watching the knight's face, "Perhaps the dragon doesn't mean to attack us at all. He could have killed us yesterday morning, couldn't he? But he didn't."

He sighed, realizing that he had been polishing the same portion of Arthur's breastplate for some time.

"I just think that all this might be a bit… unnecessary."

Gwaine was quiet for a moment, then he got to his feet, sheathing his sword and giving Merlin a pat on the back.

"Maybe so," he said, heading for the door:

"But better safe than sorry, eh?"

And then he was gone.

Merlin remained still as Gwaine's footsteps faded, then, dropping his polishing rag, he leaned his head against the wall, and wished for Lancelot.

* * *

><p>The day passed in a very similar fashion to the one before, and all that Merlin had expected would happen, happened: That is to say, nothing. Arthur continued to fret over Camelot's imminent destruction, Agravaine stationed helpfully at his side and in agreement with his every word, and castle-wide preparations continued, and the dragon did not attack. By the end of the day, Merlin was beginning to wonder if there wasn't some spell that could induce mass amnesia and force the kingdom to forget there ever was a dragon.<p>

"What am I going to do, Gaius?" he moaned, laying his head hopelessly on the table with a thud. Gaius pursed his lips.

"So you have no idea how long it might be until these sorcerers attack?" he asked.

"No," came the muffled response.

"Or how many there are?"

"No."

"Or where they are hiding?"

Merlin twisted his head sideways to look up at Gaius from the table. "Look, it isn't my fault Kilgharrah didn't know everything. Could we focus on what we _do_ know? There's a bunch of sorcerers out there somewhere bent on destroying Camelot, and I've got to something about it!"

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair miserably. "_What_ do I do, Gaius?" he repeated.

Gaius sat down slowly at the table, opposite his ward. The little white stub of a candle pitifully went out at the movement, and Merlin gave it a brief flash of his eyes to relight it. Gaius frowned. Merlin blinked innocently, tiredly. Neither of them really wanted to bother saying anything about it, just now.

Gaius let out a long sigh.

"Nothing," he said at last.

"What?"

"I think that, given the circumstances, it would be best if you did nothing. Arthur has enough on his mind as it is."

"But he should _know_, Gaius," said Merlin earnestly.

"I agree; he should," Gaius said, "But we don't have any information that he can _act_ on. All we know is that this 'band of sorcerers' exists, and that knowledge can do nothing for Arthur but worry him. If you told him what you know now, he would probably go out looking for them, and that would only lead to trouble." Merlin looked as if he was about to interject, but Gaius spoke on, preventing the interruption. "Best to wait until we have something he can use; otherwise it will only drive him mad."

"But shouldn't Camelot be prepared?" Merlin insisted. Gaius sighed.

"Camelot is already prepared, Merlin, if for the wrong reasons," he said, "There's nothing more we can do."

And that, Merlin was forced to admit, was the truth.

In contrast to the cheerful sunshine that had warmed Camelot previously, the next day was drenched from dawn to dusk in cold rain. Everyone who had any say in the matter kept indoors as much as possible, and Merlin felt sorry for the men stranded on the battlements, on constant vigil for the dragon. He found his mind wandering as he travelled the corridors, in the general direction of Arthur's chambers.

He disliked the decision he had come to in regards to the sorcerers. He knew that Gaius was right; that telling Arthur would not improve the situation, that Camelot was as ready as she could be, but at the same time, it was just one more secret to keep—one more thing to explain when the time came that all was revealed. What once would have been a fairly simple, if unpleasant explanation, ("I'm a warlock, but I'm on your side and I've saved your life more times than I can count,") had been steadily growing into a very convoluted tale of lies and secrets and death, and Merlin was beginning to wonder if he would be able to spit everything out before Arthur ran simply him through.

"Oh! Merlin, hello!"

"Gwen, hi—sorry…" Merlin scrambled to help his friend pick up the contents of her basket, (fruit) which had spilled when he collided with her.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"This one's a bit bruised—"

"It's fine," Gwen laughed, "It'll still taste the same."

Merlin smiled weakly and settled the last two apples into the basket. Gwen frowned at him as they rose to their feet.

"Are you all right?" she asked, "You seem troubled."

Merlin forced a grin to his face. "What? Troubled? No, I'm not troubled, I'm just—" he leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm going to do Arthur's laundry. Do you _know_ how much his socks _stink? _It's almost as bad as mucking out the stables!"

Gwen laughed and put a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder, briefly, as she prepared to go. "Just don't tell _him_ that; I'm sure he'd have no trouble finding even worse things for you to do."

"I'm sure," said Merlin.

His smile faded as Gwen disappeared.

* * *

><p>A week passed in predictable monotony, and it rained a good deal. One day it snowed. But aside from the dull shifts in weather, nothing changed in Camelot. Arthur was on edge and irritable, and Merlin kept his usual irreverence to a minimum. They spoke very little.<p>

"I've been thinking," said Arthur one day, leaning against the windowsill, looking out upon the rain.

"Uh-oh," Merlin muttered. Arthur ignored it.

"And I've been consulting with Agravaine, and I've come to a decision."

"One I won't like?" hazarded Merlin.

"Probably."

"Will I be able to talk you out of it?"

"No, but I'm sure that won't stop you trying."

Merlin grinned ruefully as he gathered up the plates and utensils from the king's lunch.

"We're going to go search for the dragon," said Arthur.

Merlin dropped the water pitcher.

"Wha—Arthur, do you _want_ to get yourself killed?"

"We're going to be _prepared_, Merlin, don't worry," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm taking Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, Leon, and six others. Swords are being made for them as we speak; swords like the ones my father had forged. I myself will wield the one we found near the dragon."

Merlin had dropped to his knees to retrieve the fallen pitcher, but by the conclusion of Arthur's statement, had not risen. His hand hovered over the pitcher's handle, his mouth open in wordless protest. Arthur sighed at his expression, and said in a low voice, "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Merlin. That dragon is a threat, and it's my responsibility to deal with it. It would be best if we could kill it before it even returns to Camelot."

"What if it doesn't intend to return?" asked Merlin at last.

"It does."

"How do you know? Did Agravaine tell you that?"

"That isn't the point, Merlin—"

"Arthur, think about it; why would the dragon come back?" Merlin knew even as he spoke that it was a lost cause. They had had this conversation. "You nearly killed it last time!"

"But I _didn't_, and that's the problem. I failed. I need to do the thing properly this time around."

"What if it doesn't mean any harm?"

"I can't take that chance!" said Arthur sharply. Merlin had risen from the floor and Arthur had moved away from the window; they now stood no more than a foot apart. The king lowered his voice.

"I can't play with my people's lives like that," he said, sincerely. "If there is even the _slightest _chance that Camelot is in danger, I _will_ protect her. Whether _you_ think I need to or not."

Merlin was silent. He held the water pitcher to his chest and searched his king's face, and found honesty and loyalty there, and courage. He found the desire to be the great king that his father had believed he would be. He found a fierce dedication to his people.

His bravery was admirable, if misdirected, and his love for Camelot was true.

Merlin held the king's gaze for another moment, then moved.

"Of course, Sire," he said, and sliding the plates smoothly from the table and into his arms, he left the room, holding the water pitcher in his right hand.

Merlin knew that Arthur would never find Kilgharrah, if he searched for the rest of his life. He may have been huge, but he kept well away from Camelot unless Merlin summoned him, and he was the fastest creature the warlock had ever seen. Merlin wasn't worried about Kilgharrah.

Assured as he was that king and dragon would never meet, he dreaded Arthur's departure with his party of knights the next day. Arthur was going to be using the sword. That cold, dreadful , enchanted sword that tingled with tangible _dark_. That sword was the reason Merlin opposed the expedition, but he knew that no amount of discussion could sway Arthur from his decision to use it. If there had been any chance of success, he would have liked to steal the sword and throw it in a river somewhere, or bury it deep in the woods, or give it to Kilgharrah to be taken far, far away. But he knew that he had expressed his views too freely to be above suspicion, now. Any attempt to sabotage the dragon-hunt would point straight to Merlin.

Knowing that, yet again, there was nothing else to be done, the young warlock sadly resigned himself to still more waiting.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin tried to do as he was told. He really did.

Merlin was told to stay in Camelot; not to follow his master into the woods in search of the dragon. He would only get in the way, Arthur said, and it was true—he would. As much as possible. He was told that the king and his knights would be returned by nightfall, bringing back with them the dragon's head, or a renewed determination to obtain it the next day. Or the next. They would ride out again and again for as long as it took, Arthur said.

Merlin argued, of course. Argued that his master needed him, that he had been there the last time Arthur fought the dragon, ("Yes, and look where _that_ got us.") that he really didn't think Arthur should use that sword, ("Why not? Unlike you, _Mer_lin, I do know how to use a sword.")but in the end, somehow, Merlin found himself in the courtyard while his friends rode out through the city gates.

He tried to stay behind as he was told. He confined himself to the castle quite admirably, in fact, for quite a long time.

An hour and a half.

And then he was on horseback, galloping after his friend and king.

* * *

><p>Arthur's party had been riding for two hours. There had been no sign of the dragon yet, and there was a thin drizzle beginning. He had not expected to find the creature within two hour's ride of Camelot, of course. It was probably hiding in a cold, dark cave somewhere, watching Camelot from an impossible distance with those bright, magical eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. If it decided that the perfect moment was when the king was away from his kingdom… well, it would be a smart dragon, and he would hate it. And himself.<p>

He told himself firmly that he was doing the right thing. He remembered what Agravaine had said to him; that it was weak and foolish for a great kingdom to cower and await an onslaught, offering no resistance until it came. And then, of course, he remembered Merlin; the endless, almost-wise babbling of Merlin… And then of Agravaine again, and round and round his mind went, in an endless circle of uncertainty.

Though they had encountered no physical evidence of the dragon, they had listened to many accounts of his flying over small villages, or burning down trees, or stealing goats, but the reliability of these tales was questionable. He was musing over a particularly odd account of the great dragon lighting an old woman's laundry on fire when a noise ahead of him in the forest snapped his mind back to his surroundings. He raised his hand in an abrupt signal for a halt, and silence, and his knights and their mounts were instantly still. The rustling of the other party had ceased as well.

"Show yourself," called Arthur, into the foliage. "We are knights of Camelot. We mean you no harm if your intentions are likewise honorable."

The quiet continued, then there came an uncertain snap of a twig, then a confident crunch, and much rustling as the soft snout of a black horse pushed through the dense leaves, followed by the rest of the horse, and its rider.

* * *

><p>Merlin didn't know how long he had been pursuing Arthur and the knights; over one hour and under three, he thought, but it became easy to lose track of time when the sun was obscured by endless grey clouds. He had nearly lost track of Arthur, as well. It was very much to his advantage that the king seemed to have stopped to speak with a good number of people; otherwise, he might never have been able to follow his winding path.<p>

He halted his horse at the sound of movement in front of him. There was a vague sort of trail that twisted through the forest, and it seemed that several someones were approaching him from further up the path. He listened. There was a shuffling and rustling of horse hooves, and two voices, deep in conversation. The first was rough, and distinctly Scottish, and the second… Merlin recognized the second. It was Arthur's. He urged his horse to a trot, and came upon Arthur's party a moment later.

"Merlin!" said Arthur, indignant, as he reached them, and the warlock was beaming brightly, despite the rain. No one seemed to be hurt, or dead, or otherwise in poor condition. It was almost too good to be true.

"I thought I _told_ you—" But Arthur cut himself off with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes.

"Why are you coming back?" asked Merlin. "Did you find the dragon?" He knew they hadn't.

"No," Arthur said slowly, and a smug smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But we've found someone who can. He's quite an expert when it comes to dragons, apparently. He'll be staying with us for a while in Camelot."

Here, he glanced over his shoulder and motioned forward a member of the party, hitherto obscured by knights.

"His name is Baird."

Merlin sucked in a breath and forgot to let it out. A coal-black horse plodded to the head of the procession and stood to the left of Arthur's mare. Atop it, sat Baird, tall and lean and well-built, with a long face and rough skin. His hair was dark, though not as dark as Merlin's, and his eyes were a strange, pale shade of green. He looked at Merlin questioningly, amiably, as if he did not know what it was about him that held the servant's attention so raptly.

Merlin was shocked, and confused, and he knew that Arthur had his eyebrow raised in that classic skeptical-Arthur manner, but the first thought that entered his head was: _How did he find them?_ It was no coincidence that the king's party had run into the man in the middle of the woods.

"_They found me by magic."_

If he could find Kilgharrah by magic, what else could he find? Arthur? Something in Arthur's possession?

There was a nagging something pulling at him, like sunlight in the very corner of one's eye, and when he focused his attention on that something, his gaze was drawn instantly to the sword at Arthur's hip. And he understood.

Baird was smiling at him, now, and Merlin was sure that to anyone other than himself, it would have looked like the friendliest smile in the world.

"Merlin!" said Arthur sharply. The warlock started in his saddle.

"We're going back to Camelot now," said Arthur, in a tone reserved for idiots or very young children. His eyebrows had disappeared beneath his wet hair. "So it would be a good idea if you were to _turn your horse around_, so we can go _that_ way." He pointed in the direction from which Merlin had come. Merlin realized that his horse had scooted its rump around in his distraction, and the animal was effectively blocking the entire party.

"Arthur, you can't do this," Merlin hissed, taking his first opportunity to speak to his friend. The king had been engaged in conversation with Baird for the last half-hour.

"_What_, Merlin? What can't I do this time?" Arthur was irritated.

"Him! Baird! Taking _him_ to back Camelot!" Merlin waved his arm in the direction of the sorcerer, who had drifted off to ride in the company of the other knights. "He can't be trusted!"

Arthur snorted. Merlin glanced nervously over his shoulder at Baird, and sidled his horse nearer to Arthur's.

"What do you even _know_ about him?" he asked in a low voice.

"I know that he's killed dragons before," said Arthur, "And I know he's the man who made this sword." He patted the hilt with a gloved hand. "And I know that he's willing to help us rid Camelot of the last of these monsters. That enough for you, Merlin?"

"Wha—no! Arthur, are you really going to let a stranger stay in the castle with only his word to back him up?"

Arthur sighed.

"His chambers are to be placed under guard, in case he is not what he seems. But we can't afford to turn him away; if we're going to kill this creature, we'll need all the help we can get."

* * *

><p>Baird and Arthur went immediately to discuss matters with Agravaine the moment they arrived in Camelot, and Merlin was sent to ready the sorcerer's quarters, which he did quickly and angrily. If Arthur trusted him half as much as he trusted random strangers, and suspicious uncles, and treacherous sisters… Destiny would go a lot more smoothly, to say the least.<p>

The moment he was finished readying Baird's chambers, the warlock stalked off to find Arthur. When he had searched everywhere that he could think of and found him not, he went to Gaius, slamming the physician's door in frustration as he entered. Several vials rattled.

"Great news!" said Merlin before Gaius could speak, pulling off his wet coat irritably. "Arthur's made a new friend! Probably a bad choice as far as friends go; _I'd_ prefer someone who _wasn't_ out to kill me, but there's Arthur for you."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. Merlin sat down at the table, and announced, "Baird is here in Camelot."

"_How?_"

Merlin rested his elbows on the table and ran his hands through his hair.

"Apparently," he said, "Arthur and the knights came across him in the woods, and he told them he didn't mean them any harm; that he was just hunting for a dragon. 'Oh, really? Us too!'" -this Merlin mimicked with exaggerated surprise—"And apparently he'd killed a bunch of dragons back in the days of the Purge, and when he heard this one was still alive, he felt it his 'duty to protect his fellow citizens of Camelot.' So now he's here, in the castle, with Arthur, sharing his _vast knowledge_ while Arthur ignores me."

He ruffled his wet hair again.

"'Oh, don't mind _Mer_lin; he doesn't count for much. It's not like he's ever been _right_ or anything—No, let's listen to this suspicious guy on a black horse!'"

Merlin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I don't know _how_ that prat is still alive. Oh, wait, yes, I do—me."

Gaius sighed, and, ignoring the more self-pitying aspects of this narrative, got straight to the heart of the matter.

"So you've told Arthur that Baird is untrustworthy, and he didn't believe you," he summarized.

"Yes," said Merlin. "It's his word against mine, and for some reason, Arthur chooses to believe him."

Settling down at the old table, across from Merlin, Gaius said carefully, "Sometimes it is easier to believe something you _want_ to be true than something that makes sense; Baird offers hope that Camelot can be defended, and Arthur wants to believe in him. I fear it will take more than just your word to persuade him that this man is not what he seems."

Merlin let out his breath, slowly, and nodded. If Arthur needed proof, he would get it.

**A/N: Gah, something real was going to happen in this chapter- it really was! I have it all written out. But somehow more _stuff_ was needed in between events. I was just going to make this a really long chapter so I could include the already written part that I very much wanted to include, but since I already missed my self-appointed deadline of Sunday evening, I decided to post it as-is. I hope everyone doesn't just stop reading for the dullness; big, scary stuff is coming, I promise!  
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**Thank you, again, to everyone reading/reviewing/favoriting and all that lovely stuff! It makes my day- like twenty times a day. Every email is like a burst of sunshine in my life. (Particularly the reviews, though! :D)**

**I hope this was readable! (Even though not much happened.)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Chapter 7: In which there is a nod to the book Stardust and imaginary cookies to any and all who catch it.**

Merlin did at last locate Arthur, in the council room, (where he had looked before) with Agravaine and Baird. The three of them were leaning importantly over a series of yellowed maps, pointing out to one another the castle's weakest locations. Merlin stood quietly in the corner, and listened. He gathered from their conversation that there had been some sort of compromise; the security of the castle was to be increased in anticipation of the dragon, and at the same time a plan was to be put into action to kill it before these precautions became necessary.

They spoke for a long time. Merlin thought that putting Baird and those maps in the same room was quite unwise, but he could do nothing about it. Eventually, satisfied with the outcome of their discussion, the men stood back from the table, and the maps were rolled up. Agravaine exited first, and Baird followed close on his heels. He smiled at Merlin as he passed. Merlin glared, then the room was empty save Arthur and himself.

"A—"

"Quit sulking, Merlin, and do something useful," said Arthur, and tossed the rolled-up maps at him. There were four, and Merlin sputtered in protest, but he caught them all.

"Take these down to the vaults, and make sure they're put away properly."

Then the room was empty save Merlin.

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><p>For the entirety of the next day, Merlin kept a careful eye on the sorcerer, following him everywhere he could. He hoped to catch him in the act of something distinctly evil, or at the very least determine his motives for infiltrating the castle, and the man did seem to confer with Agravaine more than strictly necessary. However, to Arthur this behavior would hardly seem suspicious, much less condemning. The man seemed perfectly pleasant at first glance. He was friendly and courteous and usually smiling, and he spoke politely even to Merlin, despite his status as 'servant' and his thinly veiled animosity.<p>

Night had fallen again over Camelot, and Merlin, having failed to witness any diabolical acts performed by the sorcerer, was beginning to reconsider simply arguing with Arthur until he won. It had been done before.

He passes Baird's chambers. The sorcerer was safely inside, and there was a guard posted on either side of his door. "Precautionary," as Arthur had described the measure to Baird. The man had smiled his thin smile and bobbed his head in acquiescence. Merlin couldn't stand him.

The warlock neared the corridor which would take him to Arthur's quarters, then paused, and, suddenly deciding against it, turned in the opposite direction. It would be to his advantage to know all he could about this threat that he was going to claim existed, and he knew someone who might, by now, be able to tell him more.

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><p>Merlin called the Great Dragon the moment he was out of the city and beneath the dark cover of billowing trees. He was bold enough to summon him to a place closer than that in which they had met before, though it was still not as close as their customary glade. Small creatures twittered and rustled from the shadowy places of foliage all through his trek. He heard the hoot of a little owl ring out from somewhere in the dark, then it burst from the leaves and flapped madly across his path, huge yellow eyes comically round. He stared after it in quiet amusement. He was about to continue on his way when something caught his eye; movement in the direction in which the owl had gone. Merlin was instantly still and alert. <em>Crunch, crunch, crunch<em>. It came toward him, and, on instinct, the warlock scrambled round the big trunk of an oak.

The crunching grew louder. Merlin wished that the trees and bushes had retained more of their leaves; it was early winter, and the plants were not yet bare, but the cover they provided was less than ideal. As the creature drew nearer, Merlin found he could make out the shape of a horse and a rider. A black horse. A tall rider. They came within yards of the tree, and Merlin ducked behind it and pressed his back against the bark.

They continued past, and he peeked around again.

It was Baird; there was no mistaking him. How he had managed to escape Camelot, with his horse, Merlin didn't know; there was probably a pinch or two of magic involved. But surely he wasn't leaving the castle for good; he had only just come. Perhaps he was meeting with another sorcerer. Perhaps Morgana. Merlin skittered quickly from his tree and darted behind another. If he could learn what they were up to…

He was drawn suddenly from his musings by a glint at the sorcerer's side. A sword.

_The_ sword.

There was only one reason that he would carry that sword.

With a jolt, Merlin realized that they were now very near Kilgharrah; there was a small clearing ahead of them, and a larger one a small distance beyond it, and in that larger clearing was the dragon, waiting with his mysterious eyes and shifting wings, gleaming in the moonlight. Baird had come to kill him; Merlin's stomach twisted. If he had not summoned the dragon so near to Camelot, would the sorcerer still have been able to find him? Would his magic have worked at a longer range? If Merlin had taken matters into his own hands and consulted Arthur _without_ first going to have a chat with a cryptic lizard, there was a good chance that the cryptic lizard would not be in danger now. If Kilgharrah died, Merlin would hold himself responsible.

Best not let him die, then.

Throughout this awful train of thought, Merlin had been keeping pace with Baird, slipping from the cover of one old trunk to the next, and now they came simultaneously to the smaller clearing. Merlin gasped in a deep breath, then, his frame taut with determination, emerged from the trees. He heard the slowing of Baird's mount, and his rough, Scottish voice exclaiming after a moment, "Why, if it isn't the serving boy, Merlin!" He planted himself in the grass several yards in front of the black horse.

"I know you're a sorcerer," he said boldly, taking a page from Kilgharrah's book and stating the important things without preamble. "What are you doing here?"

Baird was smiling. He seemed unperturbed by this revelation. Perhaps the obvious dislike Merlin had displayed in Camelot had betrayed the warlock's knowledge, or perhaps, (and this seemed more likely) he simply was not intimidated by the skinny form of the king's manservant.

"Well, if you must know," he said, leaning forward over the strong, black neck of his beast and smiling as if he was telling Merlin a delightful secret, "I am here to kill a dragon."

"Alone?" said Merlin, though it was hardly a question. He didn't know what he was doing; stalling for time, looking for answers, or both. He would keep talking until he figured it out.

"Well, now, as you said, I'm a sorcerer," said Baird, shrugging his shoulders in a 'what-can-you-do?' sort of way. "It would certainly be unfortunate if King Arthur were to take a… _disliking _to me, for accomplishing what he wants done, simply because I use methods he does not appreciate."

He smiled wider still.

"So I thought I'd do the both of us a favor and finish this alone. Now, if you would allow me to pass…"

"No," said Merlin.

Baird raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise.

"No?"

"No."

Pursing his lips as if in deep contemplation, the man studied Merlin for a moment. Then he sighed, and shrugged, and drew his sword as if it was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but could not be helped.

"Well, then, I _am _sorry," he said, and released the intricate hilt from his grasp. "_Aidiedan se cnniht_."

It flew like an arrow, straight for Merlin's heart, but Merlin flung out his hand as his eyes flashed, and the sword was hurled back across the clearing. It narrowly missed the horse's sleek face, and the animal reared in terror, its rider thrown from its back, and it galloped off into the trees as Baird hit the earth. Merlin stood stock-still, his hand extended toward the recovering form. The sword lay in the grass several feet from him.

"So, the serving boy has magic," he said, his pale, bright eyes locked on the warlock as his wiry limbs slowly pulled him into a crouch. "Does the king know?"

A tense pause.

"…No, I can see that he doesn't." His hard mouth smiled. "Well, that changes things."

He was edging discreetly in the direction of the sword as he got to his feet. Merlin saw. He kept his hand out-stretched, a silent warning. _Careful_.

Baird smiled again, in amused submission, and stood fully. Merlin did not lower his hand.

"You are a clever boy," he said, still with that _smile_, "I can see that. But you are in far over your head; you have no idea who you are standing against."

Merlin savored the irony of that statement, for a moment.

"I was going to kill you just now," he continued. "But do you know, I think I've changed my mind." He took a sly step to the left, towards the sword.

"You and I—" ('_Here we go_,' thought Merlin) "We are brothers," he said. _Step._

"We are both persecuted for what we are."

Merlin's steely gaze did not waver.

"You may not be much; I doubt a warlock finds much opportunity to hone his skills, to grow, in Camelot." _Step_. "But you could still aid your people."

His strange grin had stretched longer and longer as he spoke, and his teeth glinted savagely in the moonlight. "If you so choose…" he began.

"I will not join you," said Merlin. Baird was in mid-step. "And stop that." He moved his hand minutely, so that he could see the man's face through his fingers.

Baird shrugged and raised his arms in defeat.

Merlin's mind was whirling. He wanted to fight; to fight and _win_, and keep the sorcerers from ever rising. Stop this nightmare from ever beginning. But he knew that Baird was powerful; as powerful, perhaps, as Morgana. And that sword, should he reach it, would be a definite advantage. Merlin wasn't certain that he would emerge the victor if they fought now, as things were, and if he lost, he would endanger Kilgharrah and Arthur. He wished in vain for a way to stall.

"Very well," said the man. "If you will not join me, nor move out of my way, I will be happy to move you."

Baird, too, had raised his hand, and Merlin realized that there was going to be a battle whether he wanted one or not. A muttered word, then a fireball in his face. "_Gescildan_!" he hissed, and ducked, and avoided the explosion by a hair as the flames struck an invisible force.

'_Go!'_ He thought. He didn't know if Kilgharrah could hear him. '_Go! Hurry! He's coming!'_ He added an imperative thought of _'leave now!' _in the dragon tongue, for good measure. He didn't know if that would work either, without being spoken aloud.

A ring of flames rose up around him, blocking Merlin's view of his opponent.

"_Regnian_."

The fire was doused by a swift rain which fell in a circle. Merlin stepped through the smoke and steam, a spell already on his lips, hand raised, then saw that Baird had grown still.

He was staring intently into the forest, in the direction of the dragon, and he had retrieved his sword. Merlin followed his gaze, but could see nothing.

"No!" Baird growled. "Blasted dragon's moving."

And without a moment's warning, his pale green eyes flashed gold and Merlin found the breath knocked from his lungs as he was flung backwards, then he struck a tree and slumped to the ground and lay still. In a haze, he heard Baird's heavy foot falls, and saw the toes of his boots. One prodded at him.

"I will give you time to reconsider my offer," came the voice, muffled and far away. "You seem a promising young lad. You may yet come around. But know this, if you speak to your king of anything that has transpired tonight, your little secret—" His evil face came into view, then, fuzzy around the edges, still smiling, "—Will be a secret no longer."

Merlin knew not how long he lay there, after the boots and the face and the voice had gone. After a time, a heard something like a chirrup, then remembered that he had heard something like that before, and it was the hooting of a little owl. He wondered in a distant, foggy sort of way if it was the same owl. More time passed, though he would never remember how much. A real, coherent thought burst abruptly into his head.

_Kilgharrah_.

He struggled dizzily to sit up, pressing his back against the old, rough tree. He wanted to know if Kilgharrah was all right, but somehow he could come up with no way to find out. Slowly, it dawned upon him that Baird had said the dragon was moving. And there was no reason the dragon would move after being summoned unless Merlin told him to do so.

Kilgharrah had heard him!

He reached out tentatively with his groggy mind, hoping the Great Dragon would hear him again, and after a moment, there came the peculiar tickle of Kilgharrah's thoughts brushing his.

_Have no fear, young warlock; I am unharmed. I am leading the sorcerer away from the castle. He will not return there until morning._

Merlin sagged against the tree and sighed in relief. _'Thank you_,' he thought. He sat in the dark, then, for a moment, and breathed, listening to the delicate little sounds of the forest, the scurrying and scuffling of small things, which carried on as if nothing had happened there at all.

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><p><strong>AN: (At the end as well as the beginning? Oh my!)**

**Well, there you have it, folks- stuff happening! If there's anything that doesn't make sense, or there are typos, or typos that render things nonsensical, I'd be very grateful of someone pointing them out, because I've read this through so many times now that _nothing_ makes sense. (It's like saying a word repeatedly until it isn't even a word anymore.)**

**Also, reviewers, I'd like to say that I don't really know what the... er, 'review etiquette' is here on . Meaning that I don't know if most people respond to every review, or only some reviews, or don't reply much at all, and which end of the spectrum is most unusual. I feel like to ought to reply to every one, but I'm one of those shy people (even over the internet) that doesn't really know what to say! So if I don't reply to your review, or seem weirdly talkative by responding to _all_ of your reviews... Well, that's why. **


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